


Caught.

by laura_sommeils



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-The Raven King, Ronan!centric, SPOILERS of Raven King, The Raven King Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6701944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laura_sommeils/pseuds/laura_sommeils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is more about not really thinking you deserve to be caught, but deciding to throw yourself to the chasm anyways, fearful of its mercy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught.

It begins like this, falling until not knowing it’s too late to prevent it. Caring and most of all, above all, being unable to stop. Descending without realizing someone will catch you, scratch that, is more about not really thinking you deserve to be caught, but deciding to throw yourself to the chasm anyways, fearful of its mercy.

It continues with a heart composed of feathers and loyalty, a chant that expresses your soul, a best friend you would dream the world to, to save him, to guard him, to keep him alive. Is pathetic how well you remember the shape of an epi-pen, the weight of it in your hands, the fear in how much time it’ll take you to use it. You think _please, please, please_ , but the walls of the church do not respond.

And there’s fear/pride/determination, right in front of you, a fear/pride/determination made person, made human, made _magician,_ a creature of wonders choosing not to become a monster but finding his own path. A boy crumbling, falling, shaping his own future with his dusty hands and flaring eyes, working over mud to create his own silhouette. And your heart beats, re-starts, sometimes those hands give form to you, too. In occasions, you’re afraid of how easily they do it, how they mold, transform, convert, and how you let it happen. Other times, you’re terrified of the shape of what you’ll become under his fingers. But you want, want, want. And, in the shadow of dreams and reality, he seems to want you, too.

_Remembered_ , grieved, loved. You do not know how it starts, but you do not care about it, who gives a shit of what came first when it exists and doesn’t let go? Not when he looks at you, hope and happiness and you think “this is what it feels to be alive”. You hear "glitter” and think of his silly smile, of shared ideas during insomniac nights. You recall being found when it mattered, the presence sitting next to you on the passenger seat when your world was crumbling. You think of him, and you don’t think the word _lacking_ , but of laughter, and giggling, and a ramp from Monmouth to the moon.

There’s a girl you do not know what to make of, a tiny creature that you understand way too well because you share its own language. A little lamp that shines too brightly, but wants to understand how it can shine to itself, too.  She’s palms surrounding feathers, circling petals, containing leaves. _Blue lily, lily blue._ She gives and threatens to take and you not know that yet. But her name sounds more and more of family, and sometimes you both rely on the calming effect of realizing that.  You say “it was my kingdom”, heavy sarcasm, punctuated words, all venom trying to cover an infected bound, creating something worse to pretend it isn’t there, but she sees it. Strips it from you, and you end up letting her.

_Kerah_ , your heart made creature, your soul given form. The amazement of life instead of destruction, the warmth of her body pressed against your neck, soft feathers under your fingertips and an intent peck on your arm to wake you up.

It begins like this, in this little corner of the world called your kingdom. In Declan’s phone calls from D.C. before the sleeping pills take in, in Matthews’s laughter burning through your memories, the photo in your parent’s room.  

Adam sitting with Orphan Girl in the middle of the fields, surrounded by nature and picture books: illustrated pages and the existence of images, feelings and essences given form. This little girl that is a dream, a heart, a hope, a compass, finding a name of her own, choosing her own freedom. _Opal._

Photos of Gansey sleeping on a tent, a tent, can you believe it? An envelope containing a polaroid collage of every flower Blue has found on their trip, with a little P.S. saying “Dream them for me when we come back”.  You pretending not to see the CD named with a writing style that seems too much like someone trying to imitate _Times New Roman,_ rolling your eyes at the word “K-pop” and the little drawings of flowers and bees with black sharpie.

It begins in this little place in which you’re ruler and server, priest and soul.

It ends in being caught, anchored, _known_.


End file.
